


Flying Solo

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-30
Updated: 2005-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Written for the Public Sex challenge for ds_flashfiction. 5/6/04.





	Flying Solo

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Flying Solo

## Flying Solo

  
by estrella  


Author's Notes: Thanks to Rhyo, Brooklinegirl, Justacat, Lynnmonster and Byob for beta!

* * *

_"Ah, hello, Ray. This is - well, I'm quite sure you know who this is actually, but if in fact you find yourself confused, this is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian...excuse me just a moment...Ray? Can you still hear me? It's Ben. I tried your house phone but you didn't answer, so I presume you are still there, at the station. I should be leaving here in a day or so - two at the most. The training class went well. Actually, the newest recruits are quite enthusiastic to start applying their knowledge to the practice of law enforcement in the Yukon. It's funny - one of them specifically asked me -- well, really, it's unimportant -- it's just..._  
  
"Ray? Can you still hear me? I apologize for the whispering but I'm not all together convinced that I'm actually alone in the quarters right now. Diefenbaker has been intolerable; whining and whinging for doughnuts and pizza incessantly, and I find myself...restless without you. I hadn't realized just how accustomed to you I've become. How waking up with you is what I now consider natural, and this state of constant loneliness is - well - lonely. I miss you. Dreadfully. I find myself feeling cowardly for waiting until I was all the way up North and you're all the way in Chicago and listening to this on your cell phone, but I wanted to tell you that...erm...that I...miss you. Very much. I'll be home soon, Ray."  
  
Ray slapped the palm of one hand against the wall of the bathroom stall and popped open the button of his jeans with the other. The metal was cool underneath his hand; the holes and grooves of the chipped paint were rough against his skin.   
  
He bit his lip and then slowly dragged his zipper down. Jesus fucking _Christ_ \- how the hell did this _happen?_ One minute he was sitting at his desk in the station, minding his own business, checking the messages on his cell phone, and the next minute - _bam!_ As soon as he heard Fraser's voice his dick perked right the hell up. Halfway through the message he was hard and by the end of it - with Fraser talking all low and soft and telling him how much he missed him - Ray was just about ready to explode.  
  
Almost two weeks. Two weeks of training classes up in the Great White North, and still another day or two before Fraser even got home. And while Ray could go a long time - way longer than this if he had to - he didn't much _want_ to anymore. Two years it had taken him and Fraser to get here. Two long years of lingering looks and friendly pats and thinly veiled flirtation before Ray finally asked him: "Hey. Are you _flirting_ with me?"And when Fraser took a deep breath and flicked a thumb across his eyebrow, Ray knew the answer was _yes._ So Ray kissed him. Kissed Fraser. And that was all it took.   
  
But that was weeks ago, months ago, fucking _years_ ago, if Ray's dick had anything to say about it. Because while Ray was surely no expert on matters of the flesh, even he knew that getting a hard-on from the sound of your lover's voice at two o'clock in the afternoon was pretty fucking desperate.   
  
The palm of his left hand was slick with sweat and skidded a couple of inches down the cool metal of the stall. Fast, fast - he needed to do this _now._ The fingers of his other hand brushed over the surface of his cotton briefs, before he hurriedly pushed everything down.   
  
And he closed his eyes - because if he closed his eyes, he wasn't here, by himself, in a stall in the fucking men's room. He was home, with Fraser, in the bedroom or the living room or the - whatever - the kitchen, for fuck's sake.  
  
If he kept his eyes closed as he stroked himself (slow, steady rhythm, but squeezing tight, tight, _tighter)_ he could pretend that it was Fraser's hand on him, making him feel this good. He wasn't alone, jerking himself off; it was Fraser making him hard and hot and wet (wet, wet - _Christ_ \- his cock was already so fucking _wet.)_   
  
The night before Fraser left for his class up North, he woke Ray up a few hours before dawn. All the lights were out and Fraser reached for him, his hand landing on Ray's hip and dragging him until they were perfectly lined up, Fraser's chest against Ray's back.   
  
Fraser's fingers were already slick when they pushed inside him, and if Ray hadn't been concentrating so hard on getting well and truly fucked, he would have made some sarcastic comment about Fraser being so sure of himself that he got ready before Ray was even awake.   
  
He had shuddered and Fraser had wrapped his other arm tight around Ray's chest. When Fraser slicked up his cock and slid hard inside of him, Ray writhed and moaned and fisted his hands in the sheets. Fraser dragged one hand slowly down Ray's chest, his thick, wide fingers wrapping tight around Ray's cock and he stroked him, hard and fast and---  
  
Ray sank his teeth hard into his bottom lip, just barely managing to stop when he tasted blood. His hand slowed, and he remembered the way he had felt that last night; his body surrounded, covered, protected by Fraser. His cock had been throbbing, pulsing, _aching,_ in Fraser's hand. In the stall, he slid his feet apart further, smeared the come on the head of his dick with his thumb and had to stifle a groan.   
  
_"This state of constant loneliness is - well - lonely"_  
  
God, if only Fraser knew just how lonely he'd been without him. How even for something so new, he could barely remember what he was doing before Fraser. Before them.  
  
_"I miss you. Dreadfully"_  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut; gripped his cock even tighter. Fraser missed him - missed _him._ Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski. The skinny guy with the funny hair and the thick black glasses. And Fraser, with his smooth, pale body and strong hands and his slick, wet mouth.  
  
_"I'll be home soon, Ray."_  
  
Fuck, if Fraser was there Ray'd have him on the floor on front of him, right where he was standing. He'd look down and see the top of Fraser's dark head moving, Ray's cock sliding through those soft lips into the heat of his mouth. Fraser's tongue would lick him, his mouth would suck him, and Ray would close his eyes and pump his hips slowly. So slowly he'd barely be able to tell at first _(like he was doing now. Slow, steady...)_ and then picking up speed. A little faster, then faster still _(his hand was sweaty, slippery, wet, and he was thrusting fast and hard with his hips.)_   
  
And he knew Fraser wasn't there - of course he knew that. He knew he was in the men's room and this was wrong and stupid and those morons Huey and Dewey could come walking in at any moment. And then _he'd_ feel like the moron, caught with his dick in his hand and a stupid smile on his face. But none of that mattered. Because behind his closed eyelids he could see Fraser there, standing in front of him, kneeling, sitting, straddling - whatever - and sucking Ray's cock into that perfect fucking mouth, and Ray just let his head fall back and came and came and came.   
  
It took a few minutes for Ray's heart rate to finally slow down, and as he was cleaning up and pulling his jeans back up he heard the door to the men's room swing open and smash against the tile. He cleared his throat and flushed the toilet.   
  
Shit, that was close. But so fucking worth it. Wasn't like he'd had a choice anyway - he couldn't exactly spend the afternoon rock fucking hard at his desk. Two weeks without Fraser - that was a hell of a long time. Probably felt even longer for Fraser - at least Ray had things to keep him busy. But Fraser was stuck all the way up North with nothing to do but watch the snow fall and play teacher to a bunch of Mountie recruits. Ray imagined the recruits, red-coated and red-faced, learning how to track caribou and make tea for the Queen. And Fraser... Fraser was calling Ray and leaving desperate voice mails.  
  
Yeah, if Ray had been this far gone by today, just imagine how Fraser was coping up there, all by himself at night. Alone in bed in the dark; one hand gripped tight around the receiver as he called Ray, the other slowly sliding down his chest, over those soft, red long-johns. Moving down...slow...   
  
Ray grinned and opened the door to the stall. Maybe it was time to head home and give Fraser a call back. Just to see how he was doing.  
  


  
 

* * *

End Flying Solo by estrella 

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